


The Suspicious Cup of Coffee

by SwampWitch



Series: The Assistant [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, good guy Jack Rollins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwampWitch/pseuds/SwampWitch
Summary: It all started with the cup of coffee on Jack’s desk. Now, in his line of work, an entirely anonymous gift was to be treated with suspicion. They were, at best, a prank from another agent, or, at worst, potentially poisonous. Jack had ended all attempts at pranks targeting himself years ago. Only the occasional bullshit from Rumlow came through once in a while.





	The Suspicious Cup of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from Tropes and Rare Pairs

  It all started with the cup of coffee on Jack’s desk. Now, in his line of work, an entirely anonymous gift was to be treated with suspicion. They were, at best, a prank from another agent, or, at worst, potentially poisonous. Jack had ended all attempts at pranks targeting himself years ago. Only the occasional bullshit from Rumlow came through once in a while.

            So, it stood to reason, that when one of the kitchen staff was pushing the cart around on his floor, and the girl knocked on his office door, he was confused.

            The coffee was still steaming as he stared at it. No one interfered with the coffee cart. No one. Not since the great Phil Coulson coffee fiasco. He stared at it some more. Once the kitchen staffer had closed the door behind herself, he allowed himself to pick up the mug and inhale the aroma of the drink.

            It smelled rich, and dark. Not flavored, but almost spicy. Taking a sip, he noticed that it was unsweetened, very strong, and delicious. Seeing the very fine silt at the edges of the cup, Jack realized that the coffee had been made in a French press, which was exactly how he liked his coffee made, no matter how much shit Rumlow gave him for it.

            Setting aside his report, Jack sat back to think while he enjoyed his coffee. It had been a very long time since he had actually let himself do nothing more than sit and enjoy a cup of coffee. The coffee on base was like tar that someone had scraped from the floors of the motor pool. Jack didn’t know how Coulson and the others could stomach it. His eyebrows furrowed together while he thought about who would have gone out of their way to make Jack this perfect cup of coffee. Who would want to? Who would even pay close enough attention that he, a highly-trained STRIKE operative, had not yet noticed? Pushing the thoughts from his mind, Jack picked the report back up and worked on completing it.

\---------------------------------------

            Darcy had heard the steps before she saw the man making them. Jack Rollins made no attempts at stealth here. It had taken exactly one time of being acquainted with Darcy’s Taser and he had never sneaked up on her again. Sometimes he went out of his way to make noise on the way past her desk.

            As he turned the corner that Darcy’s desk was behind, he held out his sealed report folder. Taking it and sliding it into Phil’s already over- full “in- tray,” Darcy looked up at the handsome agent. He always managed to make her breath catch in her throat. That he seemed so unaware of the effect he had on her made him that much more intoxicating to her.

            “Did you need to speak with him? He’s on the phone, but I can buzz you in- he makes all you STRIKE boys a priority.”

            Jack didn’t answer her immediately. He was looking attentively at her soft expression and red, red lips when his eyes were drawn to the cabinet fixture behind Darcy. On it was laid out an assortment of coffee- making apparatus, several open bags of beans, a grinder, and three mugs, each identical to the one he had on his desk at that very moment.

            “Agent Rollins?” Darcy was giving him an odd look.

            “Um, sorry, no. I just needed to hand over the report.” Turning back, he heard Darcy clear her throat.

            “Agent Rollins?”

            “Yes, Ms. Lewis?” She was standing up now. Walking toward him, he noticed that she wasn’t looking at his face, but at his chest. Of course, at his height, most people did.

            "You have something-" She pulled something from between the layers of his uniform, near the collar. He felt something brush past him, and he instinctively shot a hand up. As he held Darcy's wrist, he looked down. 

            "Looks like a dryer sheet. Hey, at least you do your own laundry. Most of the field guys here leave it in damp, smelly piles by the base laundromat.”

            Her cute smile was waning, and Jack realized he still had a crushing grip on her wrist- her fingertips were turning white. Noticing the pinched look on her face, he released her immediately.

            “Sorry about that, Ms. Lewis. Habit.”

            “It’s okay. Really- I've had worse, and that _is_ kinda what they pay you for.”

            After looking at each other for a few long moments, Jack's expression softened. Tilting his head, he was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss Darcy. Opening his mouth to say something, _anything_ , the office door behind them opened.

            “Agent Lewis I need those reports now please if they are all here, and more of that coffee if we still have it.” He had slid back into the office before Darcy could respond.

            The moment lost, Jack stepped back, watching as Darcy picked up a dark bag of beans labeled _Sumatra_ and dropped some into the grinder. She looked around behind her to see if Jack was still there, not seeing him beside the crates stacked in the hallway. Starting up an electric kettle, and reaching behind the cabinet, she revealed a French press. She opened the grinder to fill the press, and Jack caught the spicy scent of dark coffee.

            _Bingo._

\----------------------------------

           In his office, Jack Rollins could not think. He had picked up every scrap of paper in his office at least twice and still couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. He was entirely mesmerized by a pair of bright blue eyes and pouty, full lips. He hadn’t been able to think of anyone or anything but Coulson’s pretty assistant.  Thinking of her curves, and how she looked like she had been poured into the tight pencil skirt that she had been wearing. 

           He had been quietly inquiring, hoping to find out if she was seeing anyone, what she was like, anything about her as a person. In four days, he had learned that she was mouthy, rude, she loved her coffee, and absolutely no one on the office floor dared to cross her. And yet, _and yet-_ everyone loved her. Not a single person failed to mention how they could not possibly function without her presence. She got on well with everyone, even Coulson on a bad day. Jack was starting to become obsessed. It hadn’t helped that every single day since then, something had made it to his desk. Sometimes a cup of the same amazing coffee, sometimes a sandwich from the very first batch made in the day. But today, _today_ , was something altogether different. Today was a photograph. A new photograph, printed on the terrible quality paper from the copy room, of him. Asleep at his desk, his hair plastered to the side of his face, paperwork absolutely everywhere. It was the night he had stayed late trying to complete a mission projection for the following month, but he had been so drained and had such a terrible migraine, that he had simply laid his head down and slept there at his desk overnight.

            Someone, and he could guess who, had taken this photograph, _without waking him up_ , and had written on it in very rounded script ‘you’re cute like this, but you really should get more rest.’

            Sitting down from pacing and sighing heavily, Jack dropped his face into his hand. He didn’t even know anything about her and already he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He couldn’t grasp why anyone would do something as simple as gift someone a cup of coffee, without intruding enough to reveal themselves. Why was it that she had checked to see if she was alone before pulling out the press? Why was she doing these things for him? Jack was well aware of how he was viewed within SHEILD. He was big and brutish. The hired muscle behind Rumlow's brains. The attack dog of STRIKE. He was none of those things, but he liked to encourage the rumors. He didn't need the entirety of the agency knowing that he was usually the one to plan the missions because Rumlow had enough on his too- full plate, or that it was Rollins who generally delegated out tasks within missions, and oversaw the training needs of the newer STRIKE agents. No one needed to know that he had a soft spot for baby animals and that he had cried at the end of _Marley and Me._ He was content to be viewed with disdain, but he was finding that he didn’t want Darcy Lewis to see him that way. For the first time in his extensive career, Jack thought that he could ruin the reputation of a woman he wanted to know just by being his usual self. The thought depressed him.

            Too many questions and no way to answer them, Jack pulled on his coat to go home for the day. Pulling his office door behind him, he trudged down the long hall to the stairwell, entirely absorbed in his thoughts.

            A muffled voice caught his attention halfway down, and he paused. Recognizing the voice as Darcy, he crept further toward the supply room the voice was coming from

            Singing. She was singing, and not some jaunty pop song like she normally did while she worked. This was real music, albeit sung very badly. Recognizing a rock song from his own youth, Jack chimed in as he rounded the corner, catching her entirely off guard.

           With a small shriek, Darcy wobbled and started to fall off the stepladder she was perched on. Jack leaped forward, trying to catch her, and she crashed into his chest. With a heavy thud, they both landed on the floor, knocking the ladder down with them with a loud, echoing crash. 

           For a moment neither said a word. Jack was transfixed at having a very large pair of breasts pushed against him. He was in the perfect position to look directly down Darcy's blouse. He tried desperately not to and swallowed thickly. Jack cleared his throat and tried to move Darcy so that she wouldn't notice the erection Jack was sporting from having a beautiful woman laying on top of him. As he shifted, she did too, placing a knee on the floor directly between Jack’s thighs. Directly against said erection. Jack flushed a deep, dark crimson, all the way to the tips of his ears.

            Anxiety overcame Jack, and he flipped them over so fast Darcy’s head spun. Dumping her gracelessly on the floor, Jack bolted up, and out of the room. He moved fast for the stairs so that he wouldn’t have to look at the woman he had just made an ass of himself in front of.

            Watching him leave, Darcy was aghast. Then she was angry at having been so unceremoniously dropped onto the floor. She was sure that she was going to have a bruise by the morning. Internally seething, Darcy stalked back to her desk to gather her things for the day, hobbling more than a little bit.

\----------------------------------

           Darcy's estimation of her bruising did not do it justice. Her ass had a bruise on one entire side, her shin had needed a few stitched from the step ladder, and her wrist was not only a very dark and ugly purplish color but also swollen up. On her lip was a very slight split where she had slipped trying to get into her apartment after leaving medical and going home for the day. The overall effect gave her the appearance of having been attacked.

            She was exhausted, and angry, and absolutely frustrated. Having woken up late, she rushed into work without her coffee, and she felt worse than she had in a long time.

            "That will be all, Commander Rumlow." Coulson heard the door click open to his office and both he and the STRIKE commander turned around. Seeing who it was, Rumlow looked amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he smirked. Phil; however, looked less amused.

            “Darcy, we are in the middle of a confidential—what the hell happened to you???”

            At this outburst, Rumlow turned back to face her, and they both approached. Rumlow was at her side in two large steps, with Phil right behind.  

            “Ms. Lewis, who did this to you?” Brock Rumlow’s voice was cast low and deadly. Darcy could understand now why it was said that as long as Rumlow was talking, you were okay. He certainly sounded dangerous now. Phil tenderly lifted her wrist, and she whimpered involuntarily.

            “Darcy, I think this wrist broken. These bruises are a few days old, how long has this been like this? I’m taking you to medical.” Phil looked deadly calm as well. Darcy felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt her face heat up, and tears welled up in her eyes.

            "No, please, I went yesterday, I don't want to go back." Darcy took a deep, shuddery breath, and then another. After another, she started to sob uncontrollably. Brock wrapped strong arms around her, and let her cry. Sharing a look with Coulson, he gently led her to the couch in the office and sat her down. Letting her put her feet up and lay against him, Brock watched Phil duck out of the office. After a few minutes, when Darcy had calmed down some, Phil returned with a doctor in tow, who took one look at Darcy and turned to Phil.

            “Agent Coulson, she needs to be in medical. That needs x-rayed, and those stitches have pulled.”

            For the first time, both Rumlow and Coulson noticed the gash in Darcy’s leg. Her skirt had pulled up nearly to her waist, giving Phil and the doctor a very clear view of the large bruise that extended down to the top of Darcy’s thigh.

            Brock Rumlow had started to shake. This girl, this small piece of bright light in a building full of severity, had been dulled. Someone had hurt this spitfire of a woman that his best friend was so taken with. “Ms. Lewis, _please tell me who did this to you.”_

            Looking up to meet his eyes, she whispered, “Please don’t blame him. It’s not what you think.”

            “ _Who?”_

            “Agent Rollins.”

            The room grew so quiet that it seemed like the world had simply stopped spinning.

\---------------------------

            Rumlow led Darcy down to medical, while the doctor and Coulson spoke in hushed voices. As she sat back on a gurney, he started to step away, when Darcy touched his hand.

            “Agent Rumlow?”

            “Yes, Ms. Lewis?”

            “It’s really not his fault.”

            “Jack is my best agent in STRIKE. He knows how to restrain himself. He knows how to inflict pain, and he knows how to _not leave marks_. He’d be a shitty STRIKE agent otherwise. Maybe he didn’t mean that, as you say. But he has some things to answer for.” Rumlow stomped out of the medical bay.

            Brock could only think about the sweet girl in the medical bay who made everything easier for everyone. She took too much work on herself, too. She was so much like Coulson. She wanted so much to help others around her that she didn’t think of her own well- being. More than once, Brock had found coffee, or food, or a change of clothes, or _something_ he had needed when he was too deadass tired to be bothered getting them for himself. All these were courtesy of Darcy Lewis. She had made homemade soup for him from her grandmother's recipe when he had the flu. She fixed and filed reports for younger agents so they could avoid the wrath of Coulson. She noticed when someone needed a shoulder to cry on, or when someone needed to be, very quietly, visited by someone from psych. She took care of people. She was too young, too pure, for Brock. He wouldn’t sully her with his own darkness, his own issues. But by god, no one was going to harm Darcy Lewis if he had a say. Not even his best friend.

            Jack Rollins was running drills for the STRIKE detail that was up for the next mission. As the heavy door slammed behind Brock, Jack looked up. He had a far- away look on his face. He didn’t seem to notice that Brock's expression was murderous. The other STRIKE agents had certainly picked up on it and were backing away. Before Jack could register what was happening, he was laying on the floor. Pain radiated from everywhere. He was vaguely aware of the gym emptying. He could tell that Brock was shouting, but his ears were ringing.

            “ANSWER ME!!”

            “What?” Trying to find Brock’s face through his swimming vision, Jack looked up from the floor.

            Brock grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt and yanked him up. "What. Did. You. Do. To. Darcy Lewis.”

            “Darcy? What are you talking about? I saw her yesterday, but nothing happened. I think I startled her is all.”

            “Oh, that’s all?” Brock snarled and surprised Jack with another hook to the side of the face. Nearly dragging Jack, he headed for the medical bay.

\---------------------------------------

            Having relayed the story to Phil, as well as her personal feelings about Jack Rollins, he felt a migraine coming on. Feeling eyes behind him, he noticed Brock literally dragging Jack into the medical bay, and he was bleeding. Knowing that Darcy could neither see nor hear them, Phil allowed Darcy to continue. 

            “I mean it boss, it just looks bad. I think that I just surprised him. I’m honestly just having a super shitty day. Agent Rollins is a good man, no matter what he wants everyone to think of him. I just wanted to do something nice for him. No one else ever does. He works so hard, and he does so much, and all anyone ever does is talk shit about him." She said it so earnestly that Phil felt his heart pull.

            “Darcy-” He started, with a sideways glance to Jack.

            “No, Phil. I’m serious. I think I spooked him, and he dumped me on the floor. He _did_ catch me and keep me from breaking my neck in the supply room. I landed right on him. I got to look at his beautiful face all up close."

            Jack made a choking noise while Brock busted out laughing. Holding his stomach and leaning against the wall, he fought to keep upright. Jack stepped in, and looked back at Brock, and then at Coulson. Each one taking their cue, they backed out.

            Before leaving, Phil fixed a look on Jack. “In your own time, Agent Rollins, there will be things that need to be discussed.” Understanding that both Coulson and Rumlow were well and truly angry, he nodded slowly.

            Darcy silently looked up at Jack. He sat heavily by her side, looking troubled. Darcy lifted her good hand up to gently touch Jack’s face. “What happened to that beautiful face?”

            Covering her delicate hand with his larger one, he whispered, "It's not a beautiful face. It's haggard and scarred, and ” Jack was cut off by Darcy’s soft lips pressed against his. She felt his tiny gasp and deepened the kiss. Jack felt Darcy's tongue slip along his, and he let himself fall into the moment, and he ran his hands down her arms, and to her waist. As his grip tightened, she winced. Jack backed off immediately and looked at her questioningly.

            “Darcy?”

            “I’m sorry, Agent Rollins, I may or may not have a bruise, from landing on the floor…” She looked away, feeling a little embarrassed.

            “Darcy, please believe me when I tell you that I never meant to hurt you. I just-” he paused, searching for his words. “I’m not used to being _gentle_. It’s been, well longer than I’d care to admit that I’ve been, uh, _gentle_ with anybody. I am so sorry that I ended up hurting you, I, I-”

            Darcy couldn’t believe the flush on his face. “It’s okay. I was mad. I’m still a little mad. But I’m mostly just worried about you. Nobody takes care of you, and _you_ sure as hell don’t take care of yourself.”

            He looked up at her beautiful blue eyes. “And you’re saying that you want to _take care of_ me?” The innuendo in his voice made her smile.

            “I’m saying that I want to know who you are, Agent Rollins. I want to know the man underneath the hardass. I want to know if you’re someone that I _can_ take care of.”

  "Jack."

            “What?”

            “My name, my first name. It’s Jack.”

            “Hmmmm. Well, _Jack._ I think that we have some things to clear up before there can be any _taking care of_ , don’t you think.” She smiled sultrily at him, and he felt as though someone had reached into his chest touched his heart.

            “We can absolutely do that. Maybe over dinner?” He added hopefully.

            “Dinner sounds amazing. And then maybe we can go back to my place? I have it on good authority that I make a mean cup of coffee.”


End file.
